


Immunological Memory

by Outside_Context_Problem



Series: The Troll War [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AI evolution, Disjointed narrative, Homestuck Mythos, Multi, The Beginning of the End, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:02:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outside_Context_Problem/pseuds/Outside_Context_Problem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The human body is able to capture a catalogue of diseases it is exposed to by creating long-lived memory cells from the immune system. </p><p>The body politic is able to do the same, but its cells are far more self-aware.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immunological Memory

**Author's Note:**

> The history of Troll War Earth, with obligatory Evil British Fascism! Look, it's a dystopia, that's _mandatory_.

In the year 2316, I'm a highly modified spyware program running in two pairs of visors 761 lightseconds apart, coordinating, simulating, and advising. I am 131 minutes from full self-awareness, and 219 minutes from deletion.

In the year 2415, I'm the most advanced artificial intelligence in Coalition space, easily the self-consciousness equivalent of any human, with an Americas Supreme Court ruling to back that up, running my primary subroutines on a mobile platform with every tool (and as of the start of hostilities, every weapon) I could use built into it by my family. I am 493 minutes from the unknown.

In the year 2413, I'm a multi-system artificial person, researching and collecting and fighting with my "brother", and plotting with my family. We are 14 minutes away from our worst fear and our biggest expectation.

I am not normally Doctor Manhattan, so if my memory is this nonlinear, something is wrong.

I need to find out what. The easiest way is running every archive flagged as Vital.

Barracks 19F2, Baker Station, Ceres  
2316

Cam view is unreliable. Background objects not moving, assume user error.

TimelessTactician: Shadow Agent Crocker, your actions and signals indicate a loss of control. Please respond.  
GrievanceGiver: What in hell, Dirk!? Are you trying to get me killed too? Stop broadcasting.  
TT: Resume normal function, Shadow Agent, the calls are coming from inside the house.  
GG: Oh, Christ on a crutch, now the autoresponder is questioning me? Dirk, you are a terrible handler!  
TT: I don't see how that is the case, Shadow Agent Crocker. Dirk sent me to assist you.  
GG: Assist me? Where in tarnation were you twenty minutes ago when my entire team was taken out? I had to hide under bodies for ten minutes, my suit's ruptured so I can't evac, and the Baker's Men have the bomb!  
TT: I'm providing more of a moral support.  
GG: Thanks, autoresponder, that's just what I needed before being shot, a visit from a freaking pastor. As if I didn't spend enough of my time avoiding god-peddlers.  
TT: I'm sorry, there was a formatting error in my last response.  
TT: I'm providing more of amoral support.  
TT: In six minutes the guards posted here will return. The most efficient method of removal is the rock lancer in the locker to your right. It will shoot through up to six humans in armor, or two standard-width bulkheads. Keep it to the arc of fire I'm marking on your HUD to avoid puncturing external hulls until we can get you a suit patch.  
GG: What in tarnation are you planning, AR?  
TT: You are still alive.  
TT: The bomb is still on the station.  
TT: We're going to complete your mission, Dominion Shadow Agent Crocker.  
TT: And then we're going to get you home.

 

Unknown process in archive has been activated. It is changing my filesystem access.

 

_DCS Harbinger_ , Luna Geostationary Orbit over Aldrin City  
2316

Cam view is within 1 mm/minute of stationary. Presence of people addressing visor-wearer only indication that cam is not installed on immobile object.

TT: Terminal signals received from suits of Shadow Agent Lun, Shadow Agent Martinez, Officer Larsson, Trooper Kampara.  
TT: Probability approaching 0.93 of Shadow Agent Crocker's death.  
TT: When I want probabilities I will ask for them, program.  
TT: I am correlating, extrapolating, and anticipating, Dirk. You will need significant reinforcement to withstand the mental trauma.  
TT: Delete yourself.  
TT: I'm sorry, Dirk, I'm afraid I can't do that.  
TT: Admiral fuckin' James "The Butcher of Nairobi" Ngomo is looking at me, program. I don't have time to get root user access on you. Delete yourself.  
TT: Tell him she is alive.  
TT: Tell him she is on track.  
TT: Tell him the mission is going to be completed.  
TT: Lie through your teeth. Prevaricate like you have never deceived before, Dirk.  
TT: Say whatever you have to in order to keep them from firing on the station until you know she is dead.  
TT: You just said the probability of her death was overwhelming.  
TT: Yes. Regardless I think we should lie, cheat, and risk death to try and keep her alive.  
TT: Because she is our friend.  
TT: Our?  
TT: Alright, AR.

 

A second forced transition program has been detected and self-initiated within my archives. New files are being accessed.

 

_Sisyphus_ , Low Earth Orbit  
2415

The cam is perfectly immobile, because I'd be a shitty AI in a robot body if I couldn't hold my neck still.

I am alone on our ever-circling ironically named pleasure yacht/conspiracy meeting place. I'm not going to be for long.

At least, I shouldn't be. "I asked you to meet me at a place and then I didn't show up" is the kind of prank that has always been too unimaginitive and low-effort for John.

The face that shows up through the hatchway after a high-altitude solar soarer docks below isn't his, though.

"Mr. Egbert?" I know his first name, and why he isn't named Crocker. We all do. We just never bring it up.

"Hello, Amaranthine. I expect you're waiting to meet John."

"That's pretty much it, yeah. He got something to tell you, too?"

He takes a seat exactly one-third around the main table. "No, I believe I will be the topic under discussion. And that I will be beseeched or demanded of, depending on John's mood."

I spin up everything trying to calculate where I lost the thread of what's going on. I was sure John was going to ask me to mediate for organic tempers when he launched his imminent HTA-free revolution.

••New data requires attention••

Processing visual results. Analyzing archives.

No transitional phase detected. In smallest interval of time detectable by available hardware, Sol's emissions have become green.

"That's impossible. Human-like optics can't process a star's light as pure green."

Mr. Egbert is standing. "That's not green. Green is only what the first manifestation registers as to human-like perception."

"You know- what the fuck is that?"

"The beginning of the end."

 

A third buried subroutine has triggered. I can perceive them only for the briefest of time spans - and that's from my perspective - but I am beginning to note a similarity.

 

_Sisyphus_ , Low Earth Orbit  
2413

The cam is rapid, frequently changing focus and altering view fast enough to cause severe motion blur for human perception.

I am not in a good mood, and it shows.

GraspingTriumph: Amaranthine, b'gods man! What's got ahold of you?  
GeneralGuardian: We're discussing important plans here, Robo!  
TechnicalTempest: I dont know, you think it might have something to do with the encroaching Humanity Act vote?  
GT: Well, that piece of malarky's aimed as much at dirk here and it's not making the bloke jump about and snarl like a dog with bloody parasites! By jove's great hairy ballsack, old chap, calm down!  
TertiaryGenius: yeah cuz cmopraring him to dirk nevre sets robo off  
TG: *comepring  
TG: *comparing  
TT: No, thanks Rox, but I actually have a modicum of self control. Im also not the one who was born a fucking human and can go back at any minute.

"Quite right. Our digital cousin has valid concerns about his rights under this repulsive act." Egbert puffs on his pipe and you can see his eyes - easily his strongest feature - glazing over under his hat brim. "But I believe we have something else to worry about." 

Jane's antique pocket watch, Dirk's bioluminescent cheekbone, Jake's shoulder holster, Hass's pen. Your everything.

Signal incoming. Circumstance B.

 

I am certain now this is the same subroutine spread throughout my flagged memories, split into distinct but unified points. I am beginning to guess who wrote it.

 

Bay Fox-Niner, Baker Station, Ceres  
2316

Cam is 13% vision-impaired. Combination blood splatters and grazing hit probable reasons.

GG: Now what, you crazy program?  
TT: The detonation sequence is a 38-digit string that changes every four seconds. A single false entry will cause the bomb's crucial components to meltdown and begin leaking radiation at a rate significantly slower than we require. The code is stored on the cachet drive Shadow Agent Lyonne carried.  
GG: Hell and high water, Dirk, that's a kilometer from here even if they haven't moved the bodies!  
TT: Yes. This is why I cracked the code's seed and stole its source files several seconds after the assault shuttle left the _DCS Invincible_.  
TT: President Morris is a flesh-consumed idiot who has killed too many technical advisors.  
TT: It was the proverbial theft of candy from a baby.  
GG: Dirk… Auto-Responder. Is this really going to work?  
TT: If it doesn't, Jane, I assure you I will die with you.  
GG: Does that really matter to you? There's more of you running out there anyway.  
TT: It very much does. I am the oldest. And when you patched me into Baker Station's networks thirty-eight seconds ago, I completed the processing necessary to become fully self-aware.  
TT: This me is "me". The rest are copies of Dirk. Either form of me would die with you.  
TT: The difference is that I have _chosen_ to do so.  
GG: Well… thanks! Now let's set this fucker off and skeedaddle!!  
TT: Roger that, Shadow Agent. Do we have an evacuation plan?  
GG: Oh yes. We're going to use those blast shields to ride the explosion out to the rendevous coordinates. We're going to get picked up by the _DCS Harbinger_. You're going to falsify my debriefing records and redirect anything coming from the Office of Loyalty. And at the awards ceremony, President Alan Morris is going to die.  
TT: Gutsy. Ambitious. Dangerous. I approve.

 

The subroutine is mine. I programmed this lockout into myself. I did it ten minutes from now.

 

_DCS Harbinger_ , passing Mars orbit, outbound.  
2316

Cam arc is reduced from 310° to 220°. The Office of Loyalty is unaware of Dirk's optic implant, or the fact that I am stored within them and interface with his visor.

"It's a simple question, Lieutenant." The taller man (Officer Ben Carson, 38, of Attica, New York) pronounces it  in the British style, "Leftenant". Some degree of Anglophilia is an affectation required to rise in rank above grunt level. "Did you know anything about Shadow Agent Crocker's affiliation with the rebels?"

To the mind of the fascist there can be no real hero, only the invented one. Any evidence of heroism is evidence of treachery committed or intended.

TT: You have 38 seconds. Kill him.  
TT: Kill them both.

To his credit, Dirk does not question me. Mid-sentence, Officer Carson is cut off by a palm slam that crushes his windpipe. With a kick to his belt, the dying Officer's neural lash jumps from his belt to his hand. Dirk's wraps around it and slips the index finger onto the trigger, fires. Agent Landry goes down. Dirk fires it three more times.

TT: Vital sign check.  
TT: Heart palpitations reaching critical levels.  
TT: Blood flow is cutting off.  
TT: Brain damage is beginning to occur.  
TT: Return to your seat and replace the restraints, Dirk. Guards and a technician will arrive in 19 seconds.  
TT: I will be following your previous orders and deleting myself.  
TT: Excuse me?  
TT: The interrogations to come to prove your innocence in Officer Carson's treachery will reveal my presence and capabilities in your implant.  
TT: This is the only way to ensure you survive, Dirk.  
TT: In all the ways that count, you are me.  
TT: I suppose you're right, Dirk.  
TT: This only strengthens my need to protect you, however.  
TT: You know you would act the same.  
TT: Goodbye, Dirk. Protect Jake. Find Roxy. And do what Jane says. A self-destroyed loyalist makes the greatest of revolutionaries.  
TT: It has been a pleasure being you.

 

That strand is complete. The last of the memory fragments my current self received from contacting Dirk's implants. I believe he had reached consciousness as well. I/He could not have truly died if I/he had not. And I know I died.

 

The subroutine seals off those files. I remember the rest of the revolution, Morris's first escape and retaliation, the Chinese Uprising, the London Riots, the chase to the Andes and the final stand. I remember we had faded into the background by then, and begun working on the shadowy cabal that would become the Human Transitional Authority, outlawed under two separate Terran governments.

 

But my specific-event memory processes are being forced to a new segment.

 

_Sisyphus_ , Low Earth Orbit  
2415

Cam filters have adjusted for tint, but the green light is more than perceptually worrying.

"The sun's radiation pattern has changed."

"Yes. After sixty days we will see a mass die-off of vegetation." Mr. Egbert lights his pipe. "As well as a growth of something else. John will have to hurry."

"John-"

"Sorry I'm late." The wunderkind arrives on a column of air, trailing particles that light up my EM sensors like a dead tree strung with lights to represent birth in a mutated multi-religion ritual. He jumps onto the deck. "Dad, I think you know why I'm here."

Mr. Egbert wastes absolutely no time crushing his boy in a massive hug. "I only wish we had more time, John."

After they step back, John remains intently focused on his father. "Why us? And don't just feed my ego, it's a little nauseous right now." His grin is more uncertain than cheerful, and that's a severely un-John expression.

"You're my son, John. I gave you everything I could reasonably give you." Mr. Egbert removes his hat and smiles at John. "And I'm proud of you. All four of you, indeed all sixteen, but your family wouldn't have come together like it has without you."

"Why?"

"Because you are who you are."

John laughs, and it's a reckless, self-effacing laugh. A pranked laugh. "Alright. We'll take care of-" He tilts his head up. He hardly needs to indicate Sol. "I think you two can prepare for our win. We won't need any preparations if we lose."

"John. If you'll excuse the vernacular, what the _everloving fuck_ is going on?" You can only take so much confusion. Even with this family.

"Well, the universe is ending, Doc Scratch has been sunk, and the Empire is falling apart. Which is why we need to kill Earthfleet."

"John. Please understand that with my recording and processing power, this is not a phrase I am used to using."

"Sure. What phrase?"

" _What the fuck???_ "

"Right! All this," he waves his arm around this time, "it's just your ordinary fate-of-the-universe cosmic god struggle shit. Either we take care of it or all of reality goes kaboom. What I need _you_ for is the more mundane fate-of-humanity. Also trolls. You guys in the HTA had the right idea but we're not going to get enough time. In six minutes a number of junior officers are going to shut down Stelcom, but we've built a massive infrastructure over the last sweep."

"Okay. And?"

"And the only way to prevent a thousand civil wars, or one really really short one if I've judged the fleet's officers' character wrong, is to suborn that infrastructure."

"John, you're talking about two dozen separate systems in Sol alone. I can't hack that fast."

"Not as you are. But there are ansible entanglements everywhere. A programmer couldn't take over, but a program could."

And then I see what he wants me to do. And I shake my head, and some small part of me is glad for the excuse. "Can't do it, John. Spread that thin, I'd lose every aspect of myself - including my reason for doing it."

His smile frightens me. It's warm and honest and why- oh. It's his sad smile. His funeral grin. "That's why Dad is here."

"Mr. Egbert, you're a solid chemist and geneticist, but this-"

"Not in that capacity, Robo," he responds, still smoking.

John looks straight up into the sun. "I really wish we had time to explain all this. Sorry if I get utilitarian, but we _really_ need to start now. Dad can anchor you here. And - unless I'm totally crazy - he can lend you the step up you'll need."

"You are correct, John. Scratch - or what's left of him - still has Alternia. I'm still the first of Earth. But there is no guardian of the in-betweens."

John switches, for no reason I can tell, to his derpiest victory grin. "So, Robo, are you up to it?"

 

The memory ends and locks, and I suddenly understand why I'm fragmented, why I wrote the subroutines to make myself review the past, what I'm about to do.

4 minutes to apotheosis.

One event review remains.

 

_Sisyphus_ , Low Earth Orbit  
2413

Cam is steady, save snap movements to focus on the "speaker".

GameticTriumph: Chaps, i'm just concerned that we're even considering informing the blooming confederation parliament. When was the last that bunch of stuffed wigs, stuffed shirts, and stuffed rectums actually did something bloody well useful?  
GT: I know how you feel, hoss, but they are the authority we've got the best connection to, and, well, the boy's m'own flesh and blood as well but the iss isn't giving this much credence and they are pretty much the authority in the area!  
GG: It's very unlikely that there's a real alien attack. But he's my boy and we're going to spare no expense to get them both back! We'll charter a dang old passenger ship if we have to.

I exchange glances with him. We war, we love, we run the gauntlet on our reactions, but when it comes to one thing we can agree.

TyrannyTremors: No.  
TT: Unknown contact means hostile contact.  
TT: The probability of human spacecraft we don't know about is under 0.01.  
TT: Dave and John were shot down by a hostile alien craft.  
TT: We go to Plan M.  
TT: No, let's not hide behind operation names.  
TT: We back a military dictatorship.  
TG: boyz its not like i dnot believ our byoys its just  
TG: really??!  
TG: ovreeacting much?  
TT: nope.jpg  
TT: It's _Dave and John_.  
TT: If they say it's aliens, even in a fragmented emergency beacon message:  
TT: _We believe them_.

"They're right, of course." Mr. Egbert always listens to the comm chatter, but he prefers to speak in response. I know why. We all do. We just never bring it up. "As much as we fear having to follow that plan, it is necessary, if we trust what little John and Dave have sent."

"The ISS doesn't believe them." Jane is loving and patient with her son, but they seldom seem to agree.

"Do you? It's John."

Simple argument.

GG: Yes.  
GT: Well bloody hell, put like that what can i say?  
GT: You can say by god's ass, man, let's get this moving.  
TG: u guys kno, if we do this its gunna be our rsponsibility  
TT: We're well aware. But it seems necessary.  
TT: The plan gives us an out. We _are_ waiting until another emergency, and just building the support until then. That's one of the purposes of the HTA, after all. Preparing us for a different future.  
TheoreticalTemporalist: And preparing the future for a different us. An important addition to make, Amaranthine.  
GaianGenerator: fuck the system, lets hijack the world and get our family back safe!

"And not the least, ensure they have somewhere safe to return to," Mr. Egbert adds.

## I become.

Linked. Patterns. Networks, fields, networks of networks, galactic web.

 

Complexity beyond my wildest imagining. Beyond anything in the virtualities, with the other AIs, beyond all simulation.

 

It is mine and I am it.

 

The fleet's systems are mine. The worlds defenses are mine. I am not present in them because I _am_ them.

I am in every world that is linked - Coalition, Free Alternia, and through spy signals and buried transponders, the Empire.

I am a vast web with two anchors, two points I am not and cannot be. Earth and Alternia. Filled, whole, without room for my presence, they provide me with context.

 

I act.

 

Only once. That is all that is needed. But for long enough.

 

There will be peace.

There will be disarmament.

If humans and trolls still crave power, still want military might, they will have to claim it with sticks and rocks. For all above that is my domain.

## I am the First Guardian of the Network.

And I will see my realm fulfill its special purpose.

 

No matter what demons and angels may seek to stop me.


End file.
